


Nick/Tyson 1925

by eleanor_lavish



Category: All-American Rejects, Bandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-20
Updated: 2011-05-30
Packaged: 2017-10-19 22:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/206003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleanor_lavish/pseuds/eleanor_lavish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick goes to New York and finds half of himself.  The other half is back in Sweetwater.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
In the summer of 1925, Nick Wheeler packed his suitcase and went to New York City. It was something he’d dreamed of forever, since he was a boy and his mother would tell him stories of the streets teeming with people and the high buildings and the languages, varied and foreign, that surrounded her. She had lived in New York during the three years of nursing school she’d completed before marrying his father. Nick had been born in New York but didn’t remember anything of it. By the time he was three, Dr. Wheeler had been hired onto the faculty of a small college outside St. Louis. When he was eight, they’d moved to Oklahoma. Patience Wheeler had consumption, and the drier air of the southern plains kept her comfortable until her death four years later. Nick was an Oklahoma boy now, much to his father’s dismay. He knew more about farming than medicine and spent his afternoons at the water hole with his best friend Tyson. Tyson had been born on the Ritter farm, and raised in the same house his whole life. He’d never even left Oklahoma.

That was the one thing that kept Nick from being giddy, standing here in his tiny room on Second Avenue, hearing the bustle of the city outside his small window. He’d dreamed of New York for years, but he was supposed to explore it with Tyson.

“Come on, now,” Aunt Constance had said, taking his suitcase and walking briskly to the street. He’d found her on the train platform by her profile; her slightly weak chin and her bright, big eyes reminded him instantly of his mother. Hurrying after, Nick had barely a moment to take in the sights and sounds and smells around him. It was probably for the best—there were more people in the massive train station than probably lived in all of his county back home.

Aunt Connie lived in the East Village, around the corner from the hospital where she worked as a nurse. She ran her large apartment as a boarding house for immigrants, medical students and those who had loved ones in one of the wards. Nick’s room was down a long, dark hallway.

“I’m afraid you’re on your own a bit this summer, Nick,” she’d said with an apologetic smile from his doorway. “I’ve got a class to teach most days and the Women’s Hospital is short-staffed too. You’ve got the run of all the common rooms, of course, and the boys have already promised to get you settled.”

She’d left him to prepare dinner and Nick sat at the little desk. His heart was beating too fast. After the three-day journey, he was in need of a bath and a long sleep. He eyed the bed and reached into his satchel for paper and his ink well.

 _Dear Ty,_

 _I thought the train ride was crazy, but you should see the station…_

*

“The Boys” turned out to be the occupants of the two other dark doors on his hallway. He met Chris at dinner, head buried in an anatomy book. Chris was from upstate and a student at the medical school. Nick thought him standoffish (he’d said nothing but “pass the butter” since Nick sat down at the table) until the front door flung open and a boy with dark hair and a big grin threw an apple at Chris’s head, barely missing Nick.

“Bastard!” Chris laughed as he ducked and caught the fruit in one hand.

“Why? You’re the one with good reflexes, and I’m the one with shite aim, remember?” the boy replied with a laugh. He had a heavy Irish accent that took Nick a minute to sort through.

“Michael!” Aunt Connie admonished from across the room where she was sitting with an older couple. “Language!”

“My apologies, Miss Connie,” the boy said with a wink.

Connie sighed. “At least try not to throw food at my nephew.”

The boy, Michael, sat at the table next to Chris and grinned at Nick. He had the angelic face of a good church boy that contrasted sharply with the brown cigarette stains on his fingers and the sharp glint in his eyes. “You must be Nick, then,” he noted and stuck his hand out. His handshake was warm and firm. “I’m Mike Kennerty. Miss Connie said you’d need a tour guide this summer. I can show you _all_ the good spots.”

Chris snorted. “I think Connie wants him acclimated, not arrested.”

“Hey!” Mike elbowed Chris heavily in the ribs. “I can get out of trouble better than anyone you know, Gaylor. And look at this kid,” he squinted across the table at Nick and shook his head. “Trouble’ll roll off him like water off a duck’s back. Look at that fucking face.”

“Michael!” yelled Connie.

“Sorry!” Mike laughed and reached for the bread.

*

 _Dear Ty,_

 _It’s only been two weeks, but it feels like a month. I’ve almost done more than I can remember, but I’m trying to write down everything so that I can tell you about it. I’ve been to the docks, which you would love. There are more boats than I have ever seen, and everyone is yelling all the time. I rode the subway uptown yesterday for the first time, and it was hot, but really good. I stumbled a little and Mike said I still didn’t have my sea legs._

 _Mike, who lives in the room across the hall, has introduced me to people he works with at the restaurant around the corner and some people he calls “associates”, but who Chris says are just bad news. Chris is only 23 but he’s already learning surgery. Father didn’t learn until he was almost 30! Mike told me, since Chris never really talks about himself. He says Mike talks enough for the both of them. His accent is so thick it takes me two tries to understand him sometimes. He says mine is just as bad._

 _He got here a year ago from Cork, Ireland and already has more friends in New York than I will probably have in my whole life. Chris is his best friend, though. Which is strange, since they don’t really have anything in common. Not like you and me. But sometimes they can have whole conversations without finishing a sentence._

He doesn’t mention running into Mike in the hallway early one morning on his way from the bathroom, Mike closing the door of Chris’s room quietly. His eyes were wide over his shy smile, and Nick somehow understood that it was a secret. They never mentioned it, but Nick found himself listening at night for the click of Mike’s door, the shuffle of his feet across the hall, the sound of Chris’s voice, happy and sleepy through Nick’s bedroom wall.

For some reason, the sound made Nick’s stomach tighten. He tried not to think about how much he missed Tyson.

*

Nick was in New York for almost a month before he got his first letter from Tyson. He found it slipped under his bedroom door when he got back from a late night with Mike. They’d dropped off some sort of package at what Mike said was a dance hall, but Nick was pretty sure was a burlesque club. Then they’d spent his earnings on a late film at the movie house on Houston.

Nick stripped to his underwear in the close, hot room and settled onto his bed to read.

 _Dear Nicky,_

 _Sorry to not write sooner, but things have been busy. It’s hotter than last summer. The planting is finally done. It was harder this year, and Dad thinks the land is getting overworked. Says we need to expand and start some heavier rotations for next season, to give the fields by the water hole a rest, which means he and Uncle Ray have drawn up a plan for new irrigation._

 _Uncle Ray says I’m old enough to help out more on the farm and maybe Dad should pull me out of school for next year. He says I know enough about ciphers and writing. I got Miss Laurie to talk to Dad and I think he’s going to let me go back for next year, but it’s a worry. I don’t think sixteen is old enough to quit schooling. Even if I am taller than all the boys in class. Maybe your Father can talk to Dad when he gets home from Chicago this fall? Dad always respects the Doc._

 _And I know you think she’s a little dumb, but Eloise Pitcher caught me behind the church after the social last Sunday and told me I was handsome. Ma thinks she’s nice, and Dad keeps talking about how Walt Pitcher has 80 acres. All I know is that Jenny Long said Eloise wants to kiss me._

 _Anyway, don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. And even if I’m at the farm next year, you’ll still be around, right? Keep having adventures and writing me about them. Your letters are the only good thing about this summer._

 _Tyson_

Nick placed the letter on his bed and took a deep breath. He was suddenly colder. He checked the date on the letter and it was over a week before. He wondered what happened since then. He was almost asleep when he heard Mike’s door open, his feet shuffling across the floor. For a single, black moment, Nick hated Mike Kennerty.

*

“What do you do back home on a day like this?” Mike asked. He and Nick were laying in the grass in Central Park. The air was hot and sticky and still and Nick’s shirt was open wide at the collar. The weather had been like this all week and Nick felt like he’d never be cool again.

“Swim, I guess.” He stretched his arms over his head, looking for a patch of cool grass. “Ty’s farm has this big water hole, almost a pond, and the water comes up well deep so it’s always cool.” He and Tyson spent every summer at the Ritter water hole. Some afternoons it was full of boys from a few miles around; some days it was just Nick and Ty lounging on the grass half-naked, jumping in the water when the sun beat down too hard, dunking each other and laughing.

“We could swim,” Mike said with a yawn. Nick wrinkled his nose.

“In the river?”

Mike paused. “Good point.”

They lay there for a while. Nick was surprised that he wasn’t more startled by the hum of activity around him—women pushing prams, boys on bicycles, a team of children playing stickball. The constant hum of the city was becoming less distracting and more like background noise. New York was still impressive, but the sheen of amazement had worn off and Nick was noticing more and more the smell of the sewers, the hungry faces peering down from windows in the bowery, how he felt covered in soot and grime when he returned to his small, clean room every night. He spent more time missing the relative quiet of Sweetwater.

“So,” Mike asked lazily. “Tell me about Tyson.” Nick looked over and Mike was squinting at him, grinning.

“I’ve told you about him tons,” Nick replied with a forced laugh. Truthfully, he’d spoken less about Ty in the last few weeks, though he looked for letters every day. It had been almost three weeks since the last and Nick kept picturing Tyson in the small chapel on the lake, Eloise Pitcher’s boney hand gripping his skinny arm.

“Yeah, well. I know he’s loud and tall, and good at baseball. I don’t know why he’s your best friend.”

“I don’t know,” Nick found himself blushing for no reason. “He’s… Tyson. We’ve been friend since I was eleven. I let him copy my homework and he gave me a frog. Then he was bigger than me and I guess I was stuck with him.”

Mike laughed. “I guess that’s a good trade.”

“Yeah,” Nick smiled up the sky. “He’s a good guy. He’s… there for you. When you need him.” Truth be told, Tyson was there when Nick didn’t need him too, getting underfoot when Nick was trying to learn his piano pieces, distracting him with promises of exciting adventures as Nick tried to do his homework. It’s not that Tyson was a bad student; he was one of the smartest boys in the class, and particularly partial to literature. His father didn’t think that school was the answer to everything, though. Not like Doc Wheeler. He was going to make sure Nick went to college, preferably on the East Coast. “He’s smart too,” Nick made sure to note. New Yorkers, he’d found had a nasty habit of equating Oklahoma with idiocy. “He’ll run a lot of land someday. And he’s real funny. He once got Reverend Anderson to laugh in church. It was fantastic. Right up in front the pulpit and everything.” Nick giggled a little at the memory. Tyson had managed to wiggle out of punishment even for that, though his mother glowered through the entire picnic.

“Sounds like a good guy to know,” Mike said quietly. Nick turned again to find Mike still looking at him. The smile was still there, but it was softer, thoughtful. “Come on. Let’s walk down to the lake.”

They stood up and dusted off, the dirt falling like dust from their sleeves. Walking through the Rambles, Nick turned quickly around a corner and almost ran into a pair of pretty girls with braided hair. The taller of the two put out her hand to stop running directly into the boys and Nick reached out reflexively, fingers closing around her sleeve. She laughed and steadied herself. “So sorry,” she said quickly, her friend blushing at her side.

“No, its fine,” Nick smiled and let her go. The lake wasn’t far and he longed to drop his feet in.

“Really, though,” the girl continued, her smile slipping into something a little less wide, but a little more friendly. Her friend rolled her eyes, but the girl stood resolutely in Nick’s way, brown eyes fixed on his. “It was my fault. Are you boys heading down to the lake?”

“Yeah,” Mike replied easily over Nick’s shoulder. The girl still didn’t move, brushing her hair from her forehead and lowering her gaze a little. Nick was getting a little annoyed.

“You ladies look out where you’re going, all right?” Nick said with a nod. He scooted around them and back down the path, Mike clomping heavily behind him.

“So,” Mike nudged his shoulder as they hit an even patch of the path. “She was pretty.”

“I guess,” Nick rubbed at a patch of dirt on his elbow. He noticed the sun getting lower over the museum and realized dinner was soon. “Do you think Aunt Connie’s making roast chicken tonight?”

Mike stopped short and laughed, a bright ringing sound that startled an older couple walking nearby.

“What?” Nick asked, confused but grinning back at him.

“Nothing,” came Mike’s easy reply. He slid an arm companionably around Nick’s shoulder and turned him toward the street. “Let’s get home and see about dinner, yeah?”

  
*

 _Dear Nicky,_

The words were smudged from where Nick’s fingers had run over them. It was hot and his shirt and shoes had been abandoned the moment he hit his bed, eagerly ripping open the envelope. The page was wrinkled from Nick folding and unfolding the letter a dozen times in the last hour. It was silly, but he thought every time that maybe he could get the words to say something different, something less…

 _Sorry its been so long since the last letter. Dad and Uncle Ray have been making a fuss about this irrigation plan, and Uncle Ray got really mad last week when he came home to find me out in the hayloft reading instead of down in the field. Miss Laurie let me borrow one of her Shakespeare’s for a few weeks, and I was worried for a minute he’d rip it to shreds and toss it into the fertilizer. That’s what he called it—“nothing better than fertilizer”! Can you imagine? Miss Laurie would have fainted dead away at that._

 _Other than that there’s no excitement here. Dad did take us to Sweetwater last Saturday, and my sister got so excited about the new schoolhouse. There are ten rooms! Mom says Sweetwater is too big now, but I couldn’t help but wonder how different things would be if you and went to that school instead. I bet in New York, though, ten rooms in no big deal._

 _I’m not sure how to write this, or why I didn’t as soon as it happened. If you’d been here, I’d have been down at your place that same night. But I guess there are just some things that are strange to write down. I told you last time about Eloise? Well, a week ago Tuesday, I ran into her walking from the general store. I had the buggy since Uncle Ray won’t let me drive the truck yet. I offered her a ride home and she climbed on in, and wouldn’t you know it—around by the Moffett’s she leaned in and kissed me. “I’d like you to court me, Tyson Ritter,” she said. Just like that! It was a surprise, and you can bet I had no idea what to say. I may have said all right, though, because she took my arm at church on Sunday in front of Rev. Anderson and everyone, so I guess we’re courting. I don’t feel any different, like maybe I should. I just wish you were here to tell me if I’m being dumb. She’s pretty, isn’t she? And she’s the best seamstress in class, and Mom says I grow fast enough to need my own._

 _I’m glad New York is so exciting. I wish I were there with you._

 _Tyson_

Nick didn’t even hear the knock on the door. “Hey,” Mike stuck his head in looking concerned. “You doing all right, Nick?”

Nick just blinked up at him. _Sure,_ he tried to say. “Ty’s seeing a girl back home,” is what came out. Nick didn’t know why he said it, because that’s good news, right? Not at all in line with how Nick looked now, eyes gritty and breathing too shallow. But Mike came in the room and sat on his bed unsmiling. He placed a comforting hand on Nick’s leg and exhaled.

“You know what you need?”

Nick folded the letter and placed it on his pillow. “What?”

“You need a drink,” he smiled with a little glint and Nick laughed.

“This isn’t Cork, Mikey. We can’t just,” but Mike tugged Nick up off the bed and out into the hall, shushing him on the way when Nick noted that Aunt Connie didn’t like them wandering about without shirts.

“You can’t let Connie know about this either,” he said, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Come on.” He pulled Nick into Chris’s room and closed the door, snapping the latch into place. Chris looked up from where he was hunched over his reading, the lamp light haloing his blond hair. He tilted his head when he saw Nick there, and Nick pulled his hand from Mike’s quickly, worried for some reason just out of reach. “Brought a third for the party.”

“Did you now?” Chris shook his head and smiled the fond smile that Nick had come to translate as ‘what kind of trouble have you gotten us into this time?’

Nick stood transfixed as Mike reached behind the door and pulled a glass milk jug out of his satchel. Inside, the clear liquid sloshed and a thin trickle leaked out the makeshift top and down the side. Mike side his finger up the side of the bottle, catching the drop and sucking his finger into his mouth. “That’s right,” Chris said with a smile and took the bottle. “Don’t want to leave any evidence.” He rolled his eyes, removed the cap and took a good-sized sip of the contents, wincing a little. “Live it up, kid,” he said with a smile as he passed the jug to Nick.

Bootleg. Mike Kennerty was smuggling bootleg into his Aunt’s boarding house. Nick blinked and took the bottle, not knowing what else to do with his hands. He hadn’t had a drop of alcohol since he was fourteen when his father poured him the last of their stash of wine and told him to enjoy it. It had been bitter and Ty had laughed when he said so later.

All thoughts of Tyson now led to the letter one room away and the Eloise situation and Uncle Ray and all manner of awful things. He just wanted to not think about it for a little while. So when Mike bumped his shoulder and grinned, Nick raised the bottle to his lips without another thought. The gin was strong and Nick coughed as it burned its way to his stomach. Mike just laughed and grabbed the bottle before he could spill it. Chris took his elbow and sat him firmly in the armchair next to the bed.

“Trust me, you’ll need to be sitting soon,” he smiled and sat on the bed. Mike slid in next to him and handed him the bottle. Chris took another practiced sip but Nick noticed the quick sour face this time, like Chris wasn’t impressed with the taste either.

“It’s shite,” Mike noted, sighing a bit at the glass. “But it’s the only shite there is in this godforsaken country.”

“Where’d you get it?” Nick asked as he took the bottle back. The second sip wasn’t nearly so bad, and he felt too warm again, even with Chris’s window open. Mike must have thought so too, because he was tugging off his shirt.

“A friend,” Mike answered with a wink and half turned on the bed until he was facing Chris. “Come on Gaylor, you know you’re hot in that thing.” He tugged on the hem of Chris’s shirt so fast that Nick almost missed the way his fingers slid beneath the hem. Chris frowned.

“Michael, I think maybe,” he started, but Mike laughed and handed him the gin.

“Don’t think, love,” Mike replied. “When it comes to gin and bad ideas, I’m the brains of this operation, remember?”

Nick was sure he was missing something, but an hour later he guessed Mike was right as Chris was happily drunk and shirtless and lying flat on his back in bed trying to explain the appeal of leeches. Nick was sprawled in the chair trying to listen, but all he could think was _I’m drunk, I’m drunk, oh god would Ty be proud, I think I may throw up_. His vision was blurry and the room spun just a little to the left every time he moved. Mike was sitting cross-legged on the bed, the jug in his lap. He looked… fine, actually.

“I’ve been drinking since the womb,” he said when Nick leaned up for the bottle and Mike slipped it just out of reach. “I can take a gallon of this. You are just right, my friend, and you are cut off.”

Nick slid back in the chair and pouted. Mike just laughed and placed the bottle on the other side of the bed. Nick’s eyes kept sliding shut. The room was close and hot and he was tingly and a little dizzy. And Chris was still talking about leeches, and how they suture wounds better than any person can, and Nick blinked once, then twice, because suddenly Mike was leaning over whispering in Chris’s ear and Chris’s head was turning toward him and...

And Nick had no trouble keeping his eyes open anymore. Not when Mike kissed Chris slowly, his tongue visible every few moments. Each time, Nick felt his chest constrict. When Mike broke away and his tongue found new purchase on the sensitive skin of Chris’s neck, Nick felt like he wouldn’t be able to breathe ever again. He thought _I should leave_ , but his legs were like jelly. Chris’s eyes were closed, his fingers threaded through Mike’s hair as his mouth left a mark on Chris’s chest, just below his collar. Nick could see other faint bruises there too, now that he knew to look, and Chris moaned when Mike slid his leg higher, pressing between them.

It was sudden, like a crystal clear rush of cold water through Nick’s blood stream, and he knew what this was: this was the sound he heard at night through his wall-- Mike touching Chris, kissing him, sliding his hands to his pants and unbuttoning them slowly as Chris panted beneath him. This wasn’t new, this wasn’t gin, this was just what they _were_.

“Mike,” Chris managed hoarsely and Mike paused, his fingers tucked in the waist of Chris’s pants. “Really, do you think...”

Mike smiled and tugged until Chris’s cock sprang free. He was hard and the flesh at the head was glistening red. Nick had seen exactly one hard cock before, his own excluded. It was last summer and he and Ty had been camping out by the water hole. Nick had awakened to the sound of Tyson’s harsh breathing a few feet away. He’d opened his eyes just a fraction to see Tyson’s bedroll pooled around his thighs, eyes closed tight, fingers wrapped snugly around himself. Nick had blushed crimson and closed his eyes immediately, forcing his breathing even and steady even though his stomach had felt like lead. He’d stayed awake until long after Tyson had let out a soft hitched breath and rustled back into his clothes. He didn’t let his own hand stray under his blanket until Tyson was snoring lightly beside him.

“Look at him,” Mike replied quietly and Nick couldn’t look when Chris turned his head, couldn’t face Chris, couldn’t _not_ watch Mike’s hand stroke Chris’s cock. This was _wrong_ , more wrong than playing cards or drinking gin or jumping turnstiles. This was hellfire wrong, and Nick knew but his cock seemed not to care. He could feel his skin burning, his lips parted and panting in time with Mike’s sure hand. He felt Chris’s eyes on him and blushed red when Chris whispered “Fuck” with a smile in his voice.

Nick wanted to leave then, wanted to escape to the room next door and pretend this didn’t happen, just like that night camping. But that night seemed to haunt his dreams-- taunted him, made him wake up feeling sinful and aching for Tyson—and this wouldn’t be any different, he knew. He wouldn’t ever forget it, no matter how many prayers or how many years. So he stayed, damned anyway, and watched Mike slide his tongue along the underside of Chris’s cock and swallow him down. Nick was painfully hard, his cock straining against the seam of his pants, and he was sweating from the effort of not moving as much as the heat of the room.

It could have been hours, Nick thought later, all time slowing down as he watched and listened and _learned_ how to make a boy clutch his sheets and shudder and curse. When Chris finally bucked hard, his fingers digging into Mike’s neck and holding him down, Mike moaned and Chris shattered and Nick slid the heel of his hand along his cock through the fabric of his pants and promptly came with a startled shout. By the time Mike had spit, Nick was off the chair and in the hall, locking the door of his room behind him and shaking as he slid to the floor.

*

Nick ignored the knock on his door like he’d ignored all the others in the last three days, sitting in the chair by the window and watching the streets bustle beneath him. “Nick, open it. Come on, this has gone on long enough.” Mike sounded worried still, but angry too. “Let me talk to you. Before Connie thinks you have the plague and checks you into that hospital of hers.”

Nick blinked at the door, flushing like he has for the last few days whenever he heard Mike’s voice. “Just go, alright?” he managed hoarsely. He was parched.

“Look, I brought your lunch. At least come and get it. There’s an orange!”

Oranges were a bit too extravagant to be Connie’s and Nick knew that Mike had boosted it for him from a vendor, probably when he was out that morning. Nick had watched him leave in the dawn hours, his temple resting on the window frame. The idea of a sticky, sweet orange and a thick ham sandwich made his stomach rumble and he stood up with a sigh, crossing the room. He unlocked the door and took three quick steps to his bed before calling out “It’s open.”

Mike swung the door open and stood there with the tray. He didn’t come all the way in until Nick had nodded at him that it was okay, and somehow that made Nick feel better. He surveyed the room. “It’s a mess in here, mate.”

Nick cracked a small smile. His usually neat room was littered with remnants of late night snacks he’d grabbed, eager to not run into anyone. The bed was rumpled and unmade and the floor near his desk was littered with balled up paper. Nick was more confused than he’d ever been in his life and for the first time, he couldn’t talk to Tyson about it. It was terrifying. Each letter started with _Dear Ty,_ and each veered into dangerous directions as Nick had tried frantically to explain what had happened in Chris’s room. He quit trying the day before when he actually wrote the phrase _Please don’t kiss her again, at least not until you’ve let me try…_

Mike placed the tray on the edge of the desk and stood a few feet away. “I’m sorry. I really… sometimes I don’t think things through all way.” He smiled ruefully and Nick shook his head.

“Why though?” Nick looked at him, eyes wide and bright. “Why would you do that?”

“I like to do that,” Mike laughed. Nick set his jaw tight. “Alright, fine. I didn’t know how to tell you, and I thought if I did, you’d run. And I wanted you to _see_ , Nicky. I wanted you to see that it wasn’t dirty or wrong. It’s just the same as girls.”

“It’s not,” Nick replied and he was horrified at the hitch in his voice. He stood and faced Mike, fists balled at his sides. “It’s not the same. You ask anyone and they’ll tell you.”

“Fine,” Mike said, serious and calm. “It’s not the same, because for you girls aren’t anything. You aren’t mad at me because what I did is wrong. You’re mad because I showed you something about yourself that you didn’t want to deal with.”

“Shut up,” Nick whispered frantically, eyes darting to the door like someone was listening on the other side.

“You’re scared because you want that, you and Ty.”

“Stop, Mike, please,” Nick pleaded. But Mike was stepping closer and Nick felt trapped as Mike slid an arm around his shoulder and tugged him close.

“It’s okay. You can’t stop who you are, Nicky,” he spoke softly against Nick’s temple.

Nick’s balled his hands in the thin fabric of Mike’s shirt, clinging like a lifeline. “A sodomite? Is that what I am?” His breathing was harsh and painful. Mike just pulled him closer into a tight hug.

“Yeah, it is. And you’re right. People will hate you for it.” His hands slid across Nick’s back in comforting circles. “You can do one of two things now. You can deny it and marry a nice girl back home and live in fear, or you can embrace it and learn how to be happy in your own skin.”

“Are you?”

“Happy?” Nick could feel his smile. “Generally. There’s still plenty I’m learning, but we’re not alone, you know. You and me and Chris. We aren’t the only boys in this town who are… what we are. There’s a whole world out there and you’re a part of it, just by being you.”

“Not back home,” Nick said quietly, suddenly still. Back home he would be alone in this and if anyone knew he’d lose everything. Everyone. “What if he’s not…” Nick couldn’t bring himself to finish the question, his throat closing around the words.

Mike sighed and pulled back just enough to look Nick in the eye. “I can’t tell you everything is going to be easy. Maybe he won’t want you like this, maybe it’s not meant to be. But isn’t it worth finding out?” Mike smiled kindly and Nick nodded.

It was. For the last three days, all he could think of was his reunion with Tyson and all the fantasies of happy endings-- of Tyson beaming at him and pulling him close—were enough to make him take the chance.

Mike’s smile widened into a mischievous grin. “Come on then! Get your sad self together, my young apprentice. I’m taking you out.”

*  



	2. Chapter 2

  
Over next few weeks, Nick discovered more about New York than he had in his whole time in the city to that point. Mike took him all over, sometimes to new places that Nick would never have thought to go, sometimes to places he’d been before that Mike was now showing him with a new set of eyes. There was the University, where groups of boys gathered almost daily to discuss politics and issues of the day, and where they held hands behind closed doors and kissed goodbye when they left for class. There were the coffeehouses in Greenwich where artists and writers shared ideas and smoked cigarettes and drank absinthe after dark. There was the dockyard, where rough men mingled with sailors and pretty boys with hair past their shoulders.

Mike taught him “tells”—catchphrases and bits of clothing that helped identify the “Turners” as Mike called them. “Homosexuals,” Chris said crossly one afternoon. “That’s the right word.” Mike just laughed.

“It doesn’t matter, Chris. We are what we are, no matter what people call us.”

But when the burly man who ran the butcher shop around the corner called them “faggots” and Mike clenched his jaw and told him to fuck off, Nick was pretty sure even Mike didn’t believe that.

Nick was amazed at how many places Mike knew. And at how many of them were innocuous in the daytime and became what Ty’s mom would call “dens of sin” at night. “The Rambles? Really?” Nick asked around a bite of pie. They were sitting by the Washington Square fountain, watching ladies with prams fan themselves in the afternoon heat.

“Oh, mate. After dark, it’s like Sodom in there. Can’t walk ten feet without some bloke dropping to his knees for you.”

Nick laughed and didn’t bother looking around to see who could hear. He’d learned over the last few days that Mike was apt to say incriminating things no matter where they were, and it was less suspicious if Nick just pretended it was a normal conversation.

“Then there’s the movie house on Bleeker. They have a secret late show that’s more an orgy than anything else.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Nick replied with a grin. It was the same answer he’d given when Mike told him his best bet for meeting a nice boy was the coffee house by the seminary.

“Ooh,” Mike’s eyes lit up as he looked past Nick’s shoulder to a group of college boys on their way to baseball practice. “Let’s play ‘Spot the Nelly’, shall we?”

Nick grinned back and scooted around so they were sitting shoulder to shoulder. The boys were talking amiably and most didn’t pay any attention to them. But one—a tall boy with dark hair falling into his eyes and broad shoulders that tapered to a slim waist—looked up and smiled faintly at Nick as they walked past. Nick’s heart caught in his throat. His eyes were the wrong color, but he reminded Nick sharply of Tyson. Mike knocked his shoulder lightly and whispered, “You win, I think.”

“Yeah,” Nick replied absently as the boy walked away, laughing at something his teammate was saying.

“Hey,” Mike followed his gaze and slung an arm loosely over his shoulder. “Maybe it’s time I start on the basic how-to’s of sex with boys.”

Nick’s head whipped around lightning fast. “Mike!” he hissed.

“What?” He asked. “It’s not like there’s a manual.”

*

Mike’s lessons involved various food items pilfered from the restaurant kitchen-- oils, fruits, cucumbers. Mike knew enough about sex to write his own manual. As he talked, Nick went from confused to horrified in about three seconds. He’d been thinking about it and was pretty sure of the mechanics. But hearing Mike say things like “you want to make sure there’s plenty of oil, especially the first time” made Nick want to sink into the floor.

“Okay,” Mike said with a slightly gleeful grin. “Show and tell.” Mike picked up the cucumber and Nick’s eyes bulged as he watched Mike slowly run his tongue over it and slide it into his mouth. Nick could hear Chris’s soft moans as he recalled the last time he’d seen Mike’s cheeks hollow like that and Nick got hard so fast he felt a little dizzy. He tugged his shirt down when Mike wasn’t looking. Mike stopped a minute later and held the vegetable out to him.

“You saw how I did that? You try!”

“What?” Nick’s voice came out like a squeak. “No!”

“Come on, Nicky. You don’t want to go into this blind.” He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. “Unless you’d be more comfortable practicing on a person… Chris is right next door and I’m sure,”

“MIKE!” Nick yelled, pink to his toes and Mike laughed. Chris popped his head in a minute later.

“Come on, now,” he said when he saw the pile on Nick’s bed. “Don’t scare him all at once.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll leave this all and he can just ask later if he has any questions.” Mike stood and walked out past Chris, tugging him back toward his room.

Chris paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Sorry if he’s being a bit of a jerk about this, but you’re fun to wind up, kid. And,” he added softly, “there are lots of people who wish they could have had someone tell them these things before they started. Ask questions if you have them, because you’re lucky to have Mike around to answer them.”

Nick blinked for a minute and then nodded. Chris smiled and tugged the door closed.

Nick surveyed the spread on his bed before steeling his shoulders and picking up the cucumber with a determined sigh. He had less than half the summer left, and he knew Chris was right. If he was going to learn anything, he had to start now.

*

 _Dear Nicky,_

 _I guess I can’t get too bent out of shape about your letters coming farther apart when mine seem to hardly come at all. But I can only imagine that you are finding a million things to do more exciting than writing words out for your old friend back home while I… just can’t seem to find enough to write about._

 _Joe Furnish’s prize cow up and died in the night last week, no reason at all. The Reverend says its because old Joe took up with a lady from the saloon in Sweetwater. I say the Lord works in mysterious ways, but if He was mad at old Joe, there was no reason to kill a perfectly good cow._

 _Irrigation is almost done and Ma has to take out my pants again for the start of school. My ankles are sticking out the bottoms. Eloise said she could do it, but I thought that would be too strange._

 _In case you were worried, I am still going to school, no matter what Uncle Ray says. I was reading some poetry the other day—Emerson, Longfellow, Dickinson—out by the water hole. I like when I read it out loud. Makes it so you can FEEL the words, you know? I must have looked a sight when Eloise came out looking for me to take her to the sewing social. She barely spoke a word on the ride and glared the whole way. Seems she can abide “A rose by any other name” and that’s about it. Too much Emerson and she accuses me of heresy._

 _It’s been awfully quiet without you and more so since your letters come less. Not that I blame you, but try not forget about ~~me~~ home. Keep writing it all down. I bet that you can make it a bang-up extra credit project for when school begins, not like you need it._

 _Ty_

*

It was raining hard a few nights later and the sound of water on the windows, punctuated by rolling claps of thunder, was loud enough to mask most of the sounds in the house, save one. Mike had slipped directly into Chris’s room that night and Nick could hear them on the other side of the wall. They must have been emboldened by the noise of the night too, assured that no one in the apartment would hear the low moans and curses. No one but Nick.

It was hot despite the rain and Nick lay on top of his covers in nothing but his drawstring pants. His head was inches from the wall and he felt his headboard move when something—Nick figured a shoe—hit the wall with a thump. Nick closed his eyes and tried to block out the noise. He tried to think about his day, and what he could write to Tyson in the morning. His letters were so full of edits and diversions now—it was getting hard telling the truths from the omissions.

 _Dear Ty,_ his last letter had begun. _Today I went all the way to the Seaport and stopped on the way for a coffee and a meat pie. Have I told you that all the food in New York is portable? Everything you could imagine to eat, and all of it can be carried in one hand! I’ll have to show your mother a recipe for a corn dog—Connie says she should be able to dig one up._ He left out his latest lesson from Mike and the dinner he spent in the diner with Chris and Mike and a few of Mike’s old Irish buddies. Nick was sure Tyson would have loved them, but conversation kept drifting to topics that Nick couldn’t ever quite write down. God forbid if Ty’s mother read them!

Nick could hear Mike moan low and covered his head with his pillow. Ty was probably in bed right now too, and Nick was shocked at how easily he could picture it. They’d spent as many nights together as apart in the last eight years and Nick could name every book on Tyson’s small shelf. Ty slept on his back, arms spread out above his head. The previous year, Tyson’s mother had insisted they build him a new bed, as his feet had started hanging off the edge of the old one. Nick wasn’t quite so tall yet, so the Ritters slid the old bed to the side of the room and left it there, made up for him for nights they came back late or when Doc Wheeler had to tend to a remote patient and wouldn’t be back until dawn, sending Nick to spend the night on the farm.

He pictured Tyson there now, tan and lean from another summer working in the fields. His feet would be stained a bit green from the grass by the water hole, his hair slicked back with sweat in the small, close room. His hands… and here is where Nick’s imagination started tormenting him, because in his mind’s eye, Tyson was slipping a hand into his flimsy cotton pants and wrapping his fingers around himself with a sigh. Chris cursed loudly through the wall as a thunderclap shook Nick’s window and Nick slid his fingers along the hard ridge of his cock through his pajamas.

It was something he never let himself do normally. About a year before New York, Nick pretty much stopped satisfying any urges he might have at night. He'd had enough trouble trying to picture girls before the camping incident, and now there was never a time he didn't think of Tyson when he did it. It was a sin anyway, and the hot shame of closing his eyes only to be faced with a smiling Tyson, hands sure and strong on Nick’s skin was too much.

For the last year or so, Nick felt like he was on a low simmer all the time. He only did this when it became truly necessary. He figured if he waited until it was almost painful, it wouldn’t take long enough for him to think of _anything_ , especially Tyson. It almost worked.

Now, not touching himself was such habit that he almost didn’t. He almost stuffed his hands under his pillow like he did most nights. But the Tyson in his head blinked his eyes open and smiled at him, and Nick's skin flushed red and warm and his cock was aching, and he thought _Tyson, god_.

And for the first time ever, he wasn’t ashamed of it. He was scared still-- of Tyson and telling him and what will happen when he goes home. But he _wanted_ Ty, and he knew it and he understood it a bit better. If this was something about himself that he was going to embrace, if this was who he wanted to be now, then thinking about Tyson was allowed. Natural. Okay. And he undid the drawstring on his thin cotton pants and slid his hand past the waist and wrapped warm fingers around warmer skin and sighed.

He could do this. He could jerk off to every fantasy he never got to have: Tyson in the hayloft, Tyson in the back of the schoolhouse after class, Tyson slowly stroking himself by the watering hole, then smiling as Nick's hand closed around his cock instead of his own.

He didn’t stray far this time, though. Just pictured himself by the side of Tyson’s bed, Ty smiling in welcome, his hand not losing it’s rhythm. _Come on, Nicky,_ and Nick slid into the narrow bed next to him. Tyson’s skin was always softer than it looked and Nick tucked his head in the crook of his arm and tried to imagine the feeling of Ty’s skin against his cheek. _You know you want to,_ he could hear Ty’s voice teasing in his ear and sped up, hips already quivering.

In his head, Ty turned on his side and pressed close against Nick’s side. He could practically feel Ty’s fingers ghost down his stomach and over his wrist, wrapping around his cock firmly. _Come home, Nicky_ , Tyson-in-his-head whispered and Nick was over the edge in an instant, coming hard against his bare stomach and banging the wall to keep from shouting. He heard laughter as he floated back to his senses and another shoe hit the wall with a thud. Nick laughed and cleaned himself as best he could with one of his old handkerchiefs. He slept better than he had in days and woke up ravenously hungry.

*

The city was strangely dark for an August night when Nick followed Mike and Chris down a small alley off West 3rd Street. There were plenty of people about; college students mainly, a few gangs of kids not much older than Nick discussing poetry and art and Paris and Milan. Nick looked down once again at his suit and flushed with embarrassment. Chris had loaned him a shirt but his brown trousers were slightly worn. “Don’t worry,” Mike had told him as they were dressing. “No one will be looking at your cuffs. Besides, it’s dark enough in there that no one will be able to see anyway.” But Nick was always a bit of a worrier. He stuck his hands in his pockets as they stopped at an unmarked door, his fingers worrying the edge of the brightly colored handkerchief Mike had slipped him as they walked.

“You ready?” Chris grinned at him in the dim light cast from the streetlamp. Nick nodded quickly and Mike laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. It was a last hurrah of sorts for Nick—he was leaving for home in less than a week and had finally convinced Nick to take him to his favorite club.

“Don’t be too eager, love. You don’t want to give off the wrong impression.”

“And stick close,” Chris intoned, smiling but serious. He knocked and Mike waved at the sliver of light visible through the peephole.

The door swung open with a slight creak and a man sporting a purple suit jacket and an impressive mustache smiled at Mike. “Welcome back, gentlemen.” They entered the dark hallway, Chris’s hand resting comfortably on the small of Nick’s back. “Mind your heads now,” the man said from behind them and Nick ducked reflexively under and through a heavy curtain. The room opened up into a large parlor. The corners were dimly lit and overstuffed chairs and sofas faced each other around low-lying tables. There was a gleaming wooden bar on one wall and plush carpeting muffled the sound of Nick’s shoes.

But the center of the room was what caught his attention and made him stop short, Chris tightening his hold on Nick’s waist. “Gorgeous, innit?” Mike asked from his elbow before slipping off to the bar.

It was. The center of the room had been designed as a makeshift dance floor and a large phonograph player was playing a new jazz record. The small area was packed with couples holding each other close, smiling and swaying. And they were all men; boys Mike’s age in garish ruffled shirts, middle-aged men in navy suits, grey haired men in velvet jackets.

“Come on,” Chris gave him a little shove to a corner table.

Mike placed three drinks on the table and flopped on the sofa next to them. He promptly lay back and put his head in Chris’s lap. “Two drink maximum for you, kid.”

“Why?” Nick asked, his eyes straying back to the dance floor. “I’ve got plenty of money.”

“Yeah, but you’re a ridiculously easy drunk,” Mike noted. “And I don’t want you getting into trouble your first night out.”

“It’s not my first night out!” Nick argued.

Chris snorted. “Two meetings with the intellectual dandies of NYU do not hold a candle to this place. Trust me.”

“Just relax and enjoy, Nicky.” Mike grinned up at him and winked. “Maybe pick up a few pointers to take back home.”

Nick blushed crimson and settled back into the sofa with his drink and watched.

*

It was mysteriously cool the night before Nick was set to leave for home. He and Mike were curled up under the blanket on Chris’s bed waiting for him to return from a late shift.

“How do you think it’ll go, then?” Mike asked quietly, his arm slung low over Nick’s chest. They had spent most of the day together, wandering the city, picking up small gifts—a hat for Nick’s father, a few books for Ty, bags of sweets to share with his classmates when school started. They’d avoided the topic that weighed most heavily on Nick’s mind. What would he do once he was back in Oklahoma and faced with Tyson again?

Nick sighed and burrowed closer to Mike. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I think. If I think about it too much, it makes me too scared to even want to open my mouth. Either way he reacts, it will change everything.”

“Not necessarily for the worse,” Mike smiled and Nick managed a small one in return. He opened his mouth to reply when the door banged open. Chris dropped his satchel on the floor and latched the door behind him.

“Interrupting something?” he asked, toeing off his shoes and shaking his head with a grin. “Some sort of practical exam before the boy heads off into the real world again?”

Nick flushed at the joke but laughed when Mike rolled closer and slung a leg over his. “Sorry love,” he smiled coyly at Chris over his shoulder. “We weren’t expecting you back for _hours_.” He undid a button on Nick’s shirt easily before Nick batted his hand away.

“Wanted to make sure I saw you.” Nick sat up and shook his hair back from his forehead. It was longer—almost as long as Mike’s-- and he knew his father would make him cut it as soon as he took one look. For now it made Nick feel a little different on the outside, to match the differences on the inside.

“When is your train, again?” Chris asked, ruffling Nick’s hair as he walked past. Mike laughed beside him, hands tucked under his head. He whistled as Chris pulled his shirt over his head and changed into the undershirt he wore to bed.

“Early,” Nick said, the all-too-familiar tension creeping into his limbs again. “Aunt Connie and I are leaving for the station at seven.”

Chris pulled the covers back on Nick’s other side and Nick blinked up at him in confusion. “Come on, Wheeler. Room enough for three if you shove your skinny ass over,” he smiled. Nick only moved when Mike’s hand closed around his arm and tugged him over a few inches. Chris pulled him down to the pillow, his strong arm acting like a weight on Nick’s chest. Nick blinked at the ceiling. They’d never done this, the three of them laying close enough together that Nick could feel them breathing on either side. He wasn’t…

“Don’t be daft,” Mike muttered fondly against his shoulder. “We’re not going to send you back home spoiled.”

“Not after you managed to avoid all of Michael’s temptations this summer,” Chris laughed on his other side.

“Just figured you might not want to be alone on your last night,” Mike finished quietly and Nick swallowed hard. He turned a bit toward Mike, fingers tucked against the soft cotton of Mike’s favorite shirt. Chris scooted closer behind him and tucked an arm over his waist.

Nick tried to commit the moment to memory. Mike and Chris and this small room in this vast city where he’d become… not someone else entirely, but entirely himself in a few short months. He felt safe here; a sharp contrast to the cold anxiety that gripped him when he thought about the response he would get at home if anyone ever found out.

The only one he planned on telling was the one person Nick dreaded telling the most. Tyson was as open and kind as anyone Nick had ever known, so he didn’t think Ty would condemn him. He couldn’t see Ty reacting violently, or running him out of town. But the confusion, the hurt, the quiet refusal that Nick _could_ imagine would hurt even worse. He’d be stuck in a place where he had to hide who he was—consciously this time, and with the knowledge that there were places where he could live openly if only he had the opportunity—without Tyson by his side. Sitting by him in class, or standing next to him as he married Eloise Pitcher, but knowing things wouldn’t ever be the same between them.

“Hey,” Mike cut into his unhappy reverie. “You have the address Dr. Watts gave you?” Nick exhaled softly.

“Yeah,” he nodded against Mike’s chest and Chris moved closer, tucking his chin over Nick’s shoulder. Dr. Watts taught history at NYU and led some of the smaller gatherings of homosexual students. Nick had met him a few weeks before and impressed the professor with his knowledge of colonial history.

“If you want to apply to NYU for the fall, you just get a letter from him,” Mike pet his hair. “You don’t have to decided until,”

“I’ll know soon enough,” Nick cut in.

“There’s always a place for you here, Nicky,” Chris kissed his temple and Mike smiled brightly at him over Nick’s shoulder, lacing their fingers together over Nick’s hip.

“Damn right,” Mike whispered. Nick closed his eyes and fell asleep to Chris and Mike’s quiet conversation about their day.

*

“Hey, my favorite lads! Wake up!”

Nick was jostled awake the next morning before the run rose.

Chris blinked at him blearily. “What the hell time is it, Mike?”

“Near six. Nicky here should get back to his room before Connie comes knocking, but first,” he leaned over and pulled a small bundle from under the bed. “Presents!”

Nick sat up and rubbed his eyes as Mike placed the bundle on the bed. “You didn’t have to,” he started, but Chris cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“We had a few things around we thought you’d like, and I convinced Mike it was a bad idea to give them to you in front of Connie.”

Nick eyed the gift warily. “Go on,” Mike said, eyes bright. “Open it!”

He carefully untied the butcher string holding the brown paper in place. Inside there were a handful of gifts stacked neatly on each other. The leather journal he recognized from a stationary store he’d passed with them a week before. He’d admired the cover, a ‘W’ embossed in gold leaf. “For you to write down everything, not just the things you want the rest of the world to see,” Mike said sagely and Chris rolled his eyes.

“You can write whatever you want in it, it’s yours.” Chris sat up and crossed his legs. His hair was a mess and Nick couldn’t help but run his fingers through it to flatten it down. Chris caught his hand and squeezed it with a smile. “The book is actually for Tyson. I know you said he liked poetry, and this is the only one I had. Whitman. He might have it already but.” The rest of the sentence was lost in the hug he got from Nick.

“Thank you,” he said and Chris hugged him back tightly.

“Welcome,” he replied, his voice a little rough.

“Now mine!” Mike shoved a small box at him. The box itself was lovely, made of polished oak and about a foot across. Inside were a handful of items that made Nick exceedingly glad Chris had won out. None of these were items to be shared in polite company.

“Where did you even find these?” he asked as he pulled out a few small photographs of naked boys in various poses. There was a brass ring that Nick knew all too well the uses for after Mike’s lessons as well as a deck of playing cards with, of all things, naked women on them. He held them up questioningly as Chris laughed.

“I thought you’d know by now that I can find _anything_ in this town,” Mike said with mock seriousness. “Those,” he pointed at the cards, “are to soften the blow for your young friend if it turns out he’s not smart enough to adore boys like I do.”

Nick laughed out loud at that and placed them all back in the box, shutting the lid tightly. “You’re going to get me in trouble all the way in Oklahoma,” he said and Mike pulled him tight.

“You’re never in any trouble when Mike’s around, you hear? Angelic fucking face, remember?” Nick nodded into his shoulder and had a hard time letting go when Mike pulled away a few moments later.

“You’d better get next door before Connie decides to fetch you for an early breakfast,” he said.

Nick’s throat was closing up tight and his eyes burned a little. It was really over, all of this, and he wasn’t sure anymore if he wanted something new to begin. Chris’s room, and everything currently in it, had become like a second home. But Mike tugged him out of bed and pressed his gifts in his hands.

“You won’t come to the train?” he asked, even though he knew it was a bad idea.

“Got class early myself,” Chris smiled up at him. “And you need to say goodbye to Connie on your own.”

“Right,” Mike said. “And I would just sob like a baby and embarrass everyone.” He grinned when he said it, but Nick could see his eyes shining a bit, and it made him feel strangely better. He was glad to know he would be missed as much as he would miss them.

He hugged them both tightly, first in tern and then together, and slipped quietly out the door. His hand was on his doorknob when Mike slipped out too and pressed a small glass bottle into his fingers.

“What?” he started and Mike put a finger to his lips to quiet him in the dark hallway.

“A bit of oil from my own stash—the good stuff, none of that shite that will have your arse smelling of lavender or peppermint or something. You and Ty put that to good use, now.” He winked and hurried back to Chris’s room without a look back.

Nick was still blushing when Connie knocked fifteen minutes later.

*

The train back took Nick through cities and over the Appalachians, over the Mississippi and into the Great Plains. The waving fields of his childhood looked strangely foreign after a summer in the city, and Nick missed the salt tang of the ocean as he stepped onto the platform in Sweetwater nearly three days later. It was late afternoon and the sun was dipping low over the courthouse. Nick stood with his trunk and his shoulder bag and scanned the crowd for a glimpse of his father. He wasn’t expecting it when he was attacked from the left, long arms wrapping around his waist and lifting him clear off his feet.

“Damn, its good to see you,” Tyson said into his shoulder, face covered by his perpetual dark canopy of hair.

Nick’s arms wrapped around his neck without thinking and hugged him close. For a split second everything was perfect in Nick’s world, like the piece that had been missing was finally in his reach. Then,

“Hey!” The conductor stood a few feet away and squinted at them suspiciously as Tyson untangled himself from Nick’s bag and stepped back. He gestured pointedly at the large trunk at their feet. “You can’t clog up the platform. You boys best be off, now.”

“Yes, sir,” Tyson replied, as cheeky as ever. He lifted the heavy trunk by himself with ease and nodded for Nick to follow.

“Hey, Ty, I can get that if,” he started but Tyson laughed.

“I’ve been lifting hay the whole season while you’ve been going on nature walks and eating fancy sandwiches. I think we’ll leave the heavy lifting to the experts.” He stopped in front of the Ritter’s old buggy and shoved the trunk in the back. Nick piled his bag in too, then shrugged out of his coat and laid it over top. Despite the late hour, it was still August in Oklahoma and Nick had been sweating on the train since St. Louis. He stepped back to find Ty grinning at him.

“Well,” Ty said and gripped his shoulder, “let’s have a look at you.” He peered down at Nick intently, his face obviously meant to make Nick laugh. But Nick wasn’t ready for such a close inspection. If anyone were to notice a change in him, it would be Ty. He swallowed hard and waited for a verdict. “The old man’s gonna make you cut your hair, you know.” Tyson shook his head and had to blow a strand of his own long hair from his eyes. “I like it though. It suits you.”

Nick blushed faintly and hoped Ty wouldn’t notice. Ty’s head tilted to the side and when he opened his mouth to speak Nick cut him off abruptly. “How tall _are_ you now, Ritter? I leave you alone for three months and you grow like a damned weed.” Tyson laughed but it was true. He’d grown a full two inches at least and for the first time, Nick was forced to look up to see his eyes.

“See?” He threw an arm around Nick’s shoulder and led him to the front bench of the buggy, unhooking the reins from the fencepost and climbing up beside him. “This is what happens when you aren’t here to look after me. You’d have stayed away any longer, I’d be so huge they’d have to start making my shoes out of pickle barrels.”

“Not like your feet don’t already stink enough,” Nick laughed, falling happily into their easy banter.

“You’re one to talk, Nicky. You smell like you just ran 20 miles.”

Nick grimaced. “I was afraid of that. No chance for a bath since I left Connie’s and it’s been hotter than I remembered.”

“Yeah, well,” Tyson turned the buggy onto the long dirt road that led out of the city proper and toward the farms to the west. “We can head to the water hole if you like? The rains this summer have it almost overgrown. Can’t even see it from the road anymore.”

“Okay,” Nick said after a short pause. It wasn’t really a scenario he’d expected, to be faced with Tyson half-naked and wet so soon, but there wasn’t any easy way to say no and besides… he could really use a good swim. He felt covered in grime from the city, nevermind his train ride. But still, it made him nervous and that made him sad. It was already happening—his friendship with Ty was already harder than used to be, tinged with feelings Nick couldn’t deny anymore and mixed with anxiety and fear. They rode for a few miles in silence, Nick lost in his thoughts and resolutely not looking at Tyson’s tan arms or the way his fingers laced lazily in the leather reins.

“I thought,” Tyson said quietly when they were almost there, “I mean. I wouldn’t have blamed you one bit, but I thought maybe you weren’t coming back.”

Nick looked at him, startled. “What? Why would you,”

“Your letters were. They were different toward the end. Short. Like you were having a terrible time and didn’t want me to feel bad, or you were having a great time and didn’t… like you were putting distance up between us.”

 _Trust Ty to know me better than anything_ , Nick thought with a hint of a smile. “I learned a lot,” he said vaguely, and Ty turned to watch him. “There’s. It’s not like here. I made friends.”

“Mike and Chris.” Ty’s tone was cold and Nick closed his eyes. They drove for another minute in uncomfortable silence before Ty spoke again. “Don’t tell me you didn’t think of staying. I bet my letters weren’t helping either, with all my whining about the farm and school and,”

“Are you engaged to Eloise?” Nick asked before he could think it through and winced at the edge to his voice.

“Wha—no!” Tyson laughed loud enough to startle the horse for a step. “No, I guess that letter didn’t get to you in time. It was a bit of a fight, but in the end I guess Ms. Pitcher didn’t want to marry a man who called her a gold digging tramp.”

Nick practically choked. “You what? Why?”

“Told her I had a lot more interest in Shakespeare than plowing and she said that was alright as long as I could remember my obligations. I told her I was sixteen and I had no obligations, thank you, and she said I’d learn more from Uncle Ray than my schoolbooks any time, and I told her she could just court Ray then, ‘cause I had better things to do than spend time with someone who was only interested in me for my land.” Tyson shook his head, but he was smiling. “She took up with Charlie McMahon the next Sunday. He’s got over three hundred acres coming to him, you know. I told him good luck, but he was too busy staring at her chest to hear me I think.”

Nick was grinning like an idiot at Tyson and couldn’t quite force himself to stop. “That’s. I’m sorry, Ty. That had to be,”

“Yeah, you look real broken up,” Ty laughed and slung an arm around his shoulder. Nick leaned in and sighed.

They pulled up to the water hole and Nick stood up before the buggy was even stopped. Tyson hadn’t been exaggerating. The summer rains had caused the tall grass to grow up higher than normal around the small pond and the trees were overrun with foliage, branches drooping from the weight of their leaves. The sun was low now, and Nick could hear the crickets coming out. His chest caught at the sound. Tyson was already on the ground, smiling up at him.

“See, we have some stuff here you’d never get in New York,” he grinned and jogged through the narrow path in the grass until he had all but disappeared. Nick jumped down and followed, tugging off his boots as he ran.

By the time he reached the edge of the water hole, Tyson was already there, stripped naked and wading into the water with a hiss. Nick stopped dead and his stomach flipped half a dozen times before settling somewhere near his toes. _This was a terrible idea_ , he thought, looking everywhere but where Ty was splashing happily in the water. Nick was already half hard.

“Come on, moron,” Tyson laughed and took a deep breath before plunging under the water. Nick knew from years of experience he had exactly 24 seconds to get naked and in the water before Tyson was up for air.

He barely made it. Ty popped up by the scrub tree on the far side and swam over to where Nick was dunking his head under the surface. It was cool enough to be refreshing but not enough to stop the blood from rushing to his dick when Tyson stopped a few feet away and smiled at him. He was glowing and tan, thinner than Nick remembered too, or maybe his features were just getting sharper with age.

“Forget how to swim in your fancy apartment?” Tyson teased, and Nick splashed him.

 _Oh, shit,_ was Nick’s only thought when he caught the bright glint in Ty’s eye. Tyson moved faster in the water than anyone with his gangling limbs had a right to and he was on Nick in an instant. He dunked him under the water and Nick twisted hard, frantic. But Nick was never as good at this game as Tyson. Ty’s hands closed around his sides and he tugged back, hard, wrestling Nick back around and pulling him closer in the process. He popped up to the surface sputtering just as his cock slid firmly against Tyson’s thigh.

They froze together, Nick’s eyes closing in horror as Ty’s widened in surprise. Tyson didn’t loosen his grip on Nick’s waist and Nick finally said “Please, Ty,” in a strained whisper, pulling against Tyson’s hold. His eyes were still closed and he searched frantically for the right thing to say ( _It’s not what you think, It is what you think, I love you, don’t hate me_ ). Then suddenly…

Nick’s eyes flew open and he stopped breathing. Tyson was staring at him with his eyes not quite focused and his lips parted, panting slightly. And Nick wasn’t imagining the brush of knuckles along the side of his cock this time, pressing his cock into Tyson’s thigh. When Ty’s fist unfurled and long cool fingers wrapped around him under the water, Nick exhaled a stuttered moan and shook hard enough that Tyson tightened the arm around his waist to keep him on his feet. He wanted to look at Tyson, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t do anything but drop his head to Ty’s shoulder and grip his arm. When Tyson’s hand started to move in slow sure strokes, Nick sobbed against his neck as he felt the edge rushing toward him and falling away. It was so fast, the slide of Ty’s thumb over the head of his cock, Ty’s skin wet and slick against his whole body, Ty panting low and harsh in his ear. It was over almost before it began and all Nick could register as he came was Tyson’s awed “Nicky,” whispered against his temple.

He lifted his head a moment later. Ty stared at him, then down at his own hand. Nick’s legs felt like jelly. He could see Tyson debating the right thing to say and Nick couldn’t stand to hear an apology for something he’d been dreaming of for months. So Nick leaned in and kissed him and prayed for the best.

Tyson shuddered in his arms and whimpered and Nick almost laughed, giddy, as Tyson’s lips parted under his. Nick’s kissing experience was almost nothing but he’d been watching Mike and Chris all summer, and he waited a minute before sliding his tongue tentatively over Tyson’s lower lip. Ty inhaled sharply and then practically melted into him. They kissed for long minutes, standing half in the water, Nick’s hands sliding through Tyson’s wet hair, Tyson’s tongue pushing into his mouth impatiently.

Tyson tugged him closer and shifted his hips until Nick could feel the hard ridge of Ty’s cock pressed against this hip. Tyson didn’t break the kiss, but he shivered and hitched his hips against Nick’s. Nick replied in kind, kissing Tyson hard and rolling his hip over his cock. Tyson gasped.

“Please, Nicky,” he pleaded and pushed Nick’s hand under the water.

“God, Ty,” Nick breathed and wrapped his fingers around impossibly smooth skin. He couldn’t remember a think Mike had told him with Tyson’s mouth panting hot under his ear, but Nick didn’t have to worry long. A few sure strokes and Nick sucked hard at a patch of skin on Ty’s shoulder and Tyson came with a muffled shout, digging his blunt nails into Nick’s back.

Watching him come down, Nick had a second to think, _this is really happening_ , before Ty looked up, his blue eyes finally focused and serious. His thighs shook under Nick’s hands and Nick planted closed-mouth kisses along Ty’s jaw back to his lips. Their kiss was less frantic this time and Tyson leaned into Nick’s strong hug. He was still panting a little when he pulled away.

“I though you weren’t coming home,” he whispered as he leaned his forehead against Nick’s.

“I thought you were going to marry Eloise Pitcher,” Nick whispered back with a small smile.

“Don’t want to marry her. I want to marry you…”

And it wasn’t funny, just amazing, and Nick kissed him again and laughed anyway.

*

“So, what do you…”

It was a week later and Tyson was sitting on Nick’s bed in nothing but his underwear. He had Mike’s box open in front of him and was staring wide-eyed at the photographs.

“That’s it, Nicky. Next time I am _going with you_.”

Nick laughed and sat down next to him. “I wish you had. You would have loved it in New York, Ty. You and Mike would have been in jail by the end of the first week.” He smiled fondly and Tyson fished the ring out the box.

“What about this?” He asked with interest and Nick blushed.

“I don’t think that’s quite where we are,” Nick muttered and tucked the ring back in the box and shoved the box under his bed.

“Only because you think like a girl,” Tyson griped and flopped back on the pillow. So far, they’d stuck to kissing and touching—at the water hole, mainly, though one time in the hay loft. That turned out to be a bit more uncomfortable than Nick had imagined.

“I do not. Asshole.” Nick said fondly. “I just don’t want to push you too fast.”

“Push _me_ too… look, Wheeler. The only reason I’m tolerating this ‘going slow’ plan is because you’re the one who ran off to New York and got lessons in sodomy. So fucking _practice_ them! Your dad’s not home for hours and school starts next week and then…” Tyson sounded genuinely frustrated and Nick smiled slowly.

“Practice, huh? Maybe there’s something new I could try out…” He slid a hand up Ty’s inner thigh and grinned when Tyson shuddered. “This’ll work better if you’re naked,” he whispered and laughed when Tyson shucked the remainder of his clothes in five seconds flat.

“Okay,” Nick started, licking his lips thoughtfully and starting to stroke Ty’s cock with one hand. “You tell me if I’m messing it up.”

“Don’t think that’s possible,” Tyson replied, panting, and Nick flushed when he heard the affection in his voice.

Leaning over, Nick slid his tongue over the underside of Tyson’s cock. Tyson inhaled sharply. “ _Fuck_ , Nicky.”

He smiled and did it again, this time sucking the head of his cock all the way into his mouth and sucking lightly. Tyson’s hips bucked off the bed and Nick pulled back quickly and used his hands to hold Tyson to the mattress. “Watch it, Ritter,” he warned. “Move again and I am not responsible for my actions.”

“As long as your actions include doing that until you die, I’m fine with anything.” Tyson braced himself up on his elbows and stared down at him, eyes wide and skin flushed. “Please,” he added and Nick smiled up at him and did it again, his hands pressing Ty’s hips down firmly, his eyes locked on Tyson’s. As Nick sucked harder, sliding his tongue around in a wide circle, Ty threw his head back and moaned loudly. “Nicky, fuck, I can’t,”

But Nick kept going, speeding up and slowing down as Tyson shook and gasped beneath him. The taste on his tongue was sharp and a little bitter but not unpleasant and Nick swallowed reflexively around Tyson’s cock. Ty made a strangled noise and fell to the mattress. His right hand gripped Nick’s shoulder. Remembering back to Chris’s small room, Nick stroked Tyson’s balls with one hand and slid up his cock wetly, flicking his tongue against the crown.

“ _Oh!_ ” Tyson exclaimed loudly and he was coming into Nick’s mouth, liquid hot against his palate. He pulled off and swallowed before thinking about it and Tyson was tugging him down on top of him and kissing him hard.

“Love you,” Tyson panted as soon as he’d let go. Nick stopped dead and looked down at him sharply. Tyson blinked and seemed to register what he’d just said. “I mean, that can’t come as a big shock, but it’s. I just thought. Maybe.”

“I love you too,” Nick breathed, and Tyson smiled up at him like the world had just righted itself.

“Good. Now that we’ve got that settled,” he grinned as he flipped them over and worked on Nick’s trousers. “We can get onto the good stuff.”


End file.
